Spoilers: BTVS season 5--Crush
Rating: R
Summary: Why would you love a stalker?
Feedback: Don't be afraid, but don't put down those rosaries yet.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Fox Television, Mutant Enemy Inc, Kuzui
Enterprises Inc and Sandollar Television own these characters. My brain
belongs to me-I think?
Author's Notes: For David Fury: The Hillside Strangler won't return my
phone calls?
===================================================
To be on the outside looking in at what I can't...
Well, I'd forgotten how bad it feels.
-Angel, Pangs.
===================================================
The Darker Fate
by Rabbit
===================================================
~Click~
The flame sputters to life. Held to the thin, blackened wisp of a wick,
it ignites charred possibility and brings renewed hope as the candle
flame dances. Renewed hope in a world that has suspended reality and
exists only as the obsession that drives me forward into the next day.
The hope and fantasy that has only one face: The Slayer.
Keeping my thumb pressed down on the lever, I bring the lighter up to the
cigarette that dangles from my lips. My eyes water slightly and I squint
against the curl of smoke that drifts upwards from the glowing tip,
before replacing the bic on the top of the small table. I got this
lighter from her room, from the top of her dresser. I don't know why it
was there, probably for lighting candles or incense or something. It's
not important why it was there, but that it was. I lay it down on the
surface of the blue angora sweater that covers the altar, near the front
where it *belongs* I only use it here. Only for this purpose. Only for
*her*
Silky. Fuzzy. Blue. It once housed a living creature that breathed and
twitched and flowed with sinuous grace as muscle slid over bone. A
creature that was delicate and fragile, but alive with the blood that had
run through it's kind for ages. It sure as hell wasn't blue. No, that
modification came for the whim of a girl. A girl who would say nature be
damned, I look really good in this color. A girl that would disrupt a
bloodline whose beginning is all but forgotten without a thought. A girl
that thinks nothing of destroying the natural order of things by making
me fall in love with her. As everything in my life now does, it rested
fully on the impulse of Buffy Summers. I run the palm of my hand over the
garment, inches away from actually touching it. The fibers rise,
stretching toward my hand as if to say—we belong to Buffy, and we
recognize a fellow possession. Join us.
I take my hand away, inhale a lungful of smoke and flick the growing ash
before it falls of it's own accord. This is my private time, away from
Harmony's bitching, away from the comments of every asshole vamp or demon
that feels the need to comment on my neutered status. This is my private
space. Sacred. Everything here seems so right, so pure. It's only here
that the answers are so clear. What I am. What I've become. What I must
do.
I stub the cigarette out and toss it in the corner with the others.
It's confusing when I'm out there. Everything tells me that I'm a fool. A
loser. That she could never love me, that I'm not worthy.
That's why I love to be here. Everything is clear and meaningful when
confronted by the evidence. I know that she loves me when I look into her
hazel eyes, the eyes I've begun to see at every waking and sleeping hour.
The eyes that are reproduced here in the dozen's of pictures I've hung on
the wall above this table…her shrine. She looks down on me and I hear her
voice—I love you Spike. I don't know how to say it yet. Help me to find
the words.
She needs my help.
I'll do anything to fulfill her wish.
I'll show her that we were meant to be together.
I pluck a pile of delicate silk from next to the candle. I stole these from her room as well…a thong they call it.
~~~~
I'd snuck in through her window. I thought no one was home as I sifted through her dresser, but a creak on the stairs sent me into immediate action and I raced for the shelter of her closet.
Hiding amongst the long coats hanging near the back, I looked down and saw that the floor was covered with her discarded clothes. Girl needs to get a maid, I thought as I bent down. Something drew me closer, spurring me to connect with a token left for me, a scent binding me to my lover: a scrap of pink silk that had covered her only hours before. It was still warm, still permeated with her musk and her juices. My hand began to shake as I brought it to my face and I had to close my eyes as her scent surrounded me, pushing all air from the closet until I felt a part of her. Something in the back of my brain seeded the thought: this isn't her closet, it's her cunt and you are a part of her now. I never wanted to leave.
When the bedroom door opened and the Slayer's sister entered, I felt the thrill of imminent discovery curl up my spine. If she found me here, she would tell Buffy and then my secret would be revealed. But it was too soon for that at the time. I hadn't been ready then, so scenarios for stopping her had raced through my mind. Just enough to illicit the first tingle of sparks webbing out from the chip. I nurtured the sensations, reveling in the subtle shock waves of warning that kept the impulses from becoming reality.
Dawn left the room and the choice was taken from me, but not the message. Buffy had left these for *me* She might not know it consciously, but some recognition deep inside her had urged her to give me this token and I would've been unworthy had I ignored it.
~~~
I stretch out my tongue and touch the tip to the dried essence of The Slayer, to connect to the center of her existence. Soon I will do this in person and her soft groans and murmurs of pleasure will be in response to her true lover, not to some stand in who can never truly understand her, who is afraid and resentful of her destiny. And they won't be for my bloody sire who left her all alone. He wasn't strong enough to love her, he was flawed and stupid and weak…
And he *touched* her. Goddam him.
I punch the wall . Hard.
The vibration rattles the table and one of the drawings I've pinned to the wall slips to the floor. Her face looks up at me from the floor in reproach and I gasp in fear that she'll be angry with me for my disrespect. I return the pink lace to its place on the altar and bend down to retrieve the picture. Carefully, I brush the dirt from her face and pin her back on the wall. This is an image that Angel drew, before he left for L.A.
I've kept the few he left behind because they capture her so perfectly. I've tried my own hand at sketching her, and they're not bad, they hang here as well. But I never had the gift that Angelus had. He drew her as I want to: laughing, smiling, sleeping. He drew her as someone who knows her intimately, someone who has touched her soul. The lines he's created celebrate how he lived through her, celebrate where I want to be.
It's hard to explain. I know what I feel inside, but when I try to explain it…when I practice my arguments to the mannequin I've dressed like her, it sounds like the ravings of an unbalanced person. I sound like a complete nutter.
Shades of Dru? Now I know how she must of felt when everyone raised their eyebrows and shook their heads at her. Ah, to be the only one to know the truth and be unable to make others see it as clearly as you do.
Buffy will see it though. I think I'm going to tell her tonight. I'm ready.
I touch my favorite picture. It's one of Buffy with Willow and Xander. They're sitting in the grass in her front yard. She's reclining, her head in Xander's lap. Willow is throwing handfuls of grass at them and the slayer's giggling. And she's…she's …just everything. I want to be with her and tickle her and kiss her and shag her…I want to sit on the grass, in the sun, with Buffy.
But Xander can never touch her like that again. If he does…
I know he's just her *friend*, but how do you think it feels to see another man touching my woman like that?
My woman. That sounds so natural. Buffy is my woman.
My eyes slide to another drawing Angelus did. This one depicts my Slayer lying back against her bed. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slack, lips rounded in an O of pleasure. It makes me angry to think of him studying her, looking down on her in orgasm so he can capture her image so faithfully. But at the same time it makes me hot to think that soon I'll be in that position. That I'll look down at her lying beneath me…about to come and I think I'll make her beg me to thrust into her. It would serve her right for making me wait so long, for being so coy.
The possibilities make me hard and it's growing uncomfortable. I loosen my zipper and relieve the pressure.
//I need your help.//
One slow tug…
//You have to look after them.//
A squeeze and a pull…
//In or out? You're the only one strong enough to protect them.//
The Slayer needs me. No one else can get it done. The thought of her helpless and needing *me* for once does it for me. The purple color infuses my cock as the blood rushes to the head and the first few drops of white cum spill from the slit. It's something she would've asked Angel to do. I consider it proof that she doth protest too much… you don't entrust what means the most to you in this world to someone you despise. You don't hand your mother and your sister over to your worst enemy for God's sakes. No, this proves that she needs me…that she can't do it alone…that she trusts me.
Isn't that a good basis for a relationship? I mean, besides lust and sweaty sex?
I can't hold it in much longer. My semen splatters the surface of her
sweater, mixing with *her* and causing the candle to sputter crazily for
a second. It's not the first time I've done it, and as always, she
watches approvingly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Total shocking disbelief freezes me for half a minute and I stand gaping
on her doorstep. I can't believe that bitch rescinded my invitation. Does
she think that she can destroy what we've worked so hard for? I've done
everything to prepare for the time when we'll finally be together and she
has to pull something like this.
//Please, you're a vampire//
How the hell can she say that? We were meant to be together, she knows
that.
I* love* her.
//You don't know what feelings are, you can't love without a soul//
I've *changed* for her.
//That chip in your head? That's just holding you back.
You're like a serial killer…//
I would've killed my Sire for her.
//You're a sick, miserable vampire that I should have
dusted long ago.//
Everything I've done, I've done for her and none of that means anything to her?
//*We* don't need to do anything…there is no *we*,
understand?//
They've all accepted me into her life (or at least tolerated me).For the
first time in a long time, I've wanted to belong to something, to be a part
of something. I thought I was getting there.
This isn't her talking. Someone's been filling her head with lies, but
who?
It can't be Joyce; Joyce likes me.
//Are you out of your mind?//
Willow's always stuck up for me.
//Loathing…disgust//
Xander hates me, but I don't think for a moment that she'd listen to that
little tosser.
//It's called revulsion.//
Giles? He does tend to wank on a bit, but he's merely a figurehead. No
one pays attention to him.
//No!No! No! Feelings do *not* develop…no feelings.//
Dawn? No, the very thought is just ridiculous.
//The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.//
She makes me so mad, she always has.
I kick a shelf on the font porch in frustration and a half full gas can
topples over with a hollow clunk. I pick it up and begin to put it back
on the shelf, when I notice the open window to her living room. Within
seconds, the curtains and her couch are saturated with highly flammable
liquid. I reach in my pocket and finger the lighter there; it's the same
one. The one I use only for her.
//I want you out. I want you out of this town. I want you off this
planet. Don't come near me…my friends…my family…ever again.//
If she thinks I'll just sit back and watch her trolling for her next fuck
partner, she's seriously delusional. I'd rather see her dead.
She can't just shut me out.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
END